How well I recall when my children were small,
And someone would trip or someone would fall,
And scrape up an elbow or skin up a knee,
Get stung by a wasp or get ďbitĒ by a bee,
Fall off of a bike they were learning to ride,
Or fight with their best friend who wounded their pride.

How well I remember throughout all those years,
The cuts and the scrapes and those crocodile tears,
Through pain and through trauma and through all the drama,
They didnít want Daddy, they wanted their Mama,
ĎCause when owies hurt and when boo-boos hurt too,
A kiss from their Mommy was all that would do.

Now many years later it is no surprise,
When my grandsons get hurt and have tears in their eyes,
The motherly kisses and hugs from the past,
Are what Gammaw uses to heal owies fast,
It doesnít quite matter the cause of the pain,
A kiss can make owies all better again.

But I am a grownup, Iím no longer small,
My owies donít come from a trip or a fall,
They come from bad choices, mistakes I have made,
And they cannot be fixed by a kiss or bandaid,
Iím too big to run to my Mom or my Dad,
When my heart aches inside or my spirit is sad.

The balm for my wounds is in Godís Word revealed,
My precious Lord Jesus, by His stripes Iím healed,
I give Him my owies and feel such release,
ĎCause He fills up my heart with His infinite peace,
His peace like a river, now donít think me odd,
Comes soft, like a kiss, from my sweet Daddy God.

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In Christ, we are all Godís children. The abiding comforting reality of that is pleasantly presented in this noteworthy poem. Its strength resides less in words chosen than in lasting impressions given, to all fortunate readers, regardless of age. Good poetry invites you back again for another look; this poem invites you back again and again Ė especially if experiencing a personal state of ďowie.Ē

Congratulations, Lisa, on your exceptional 3rd place showing among other talented competitive offerings.